


Slow Starter

by silvered



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Competition, Dancing, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvered/pseuds/silvered
Summary: After a couple of indifferent seasons, Chris changes his look and his approach to skating. The judges notice, and so does Victor.





	Slow Starter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



Chris looked at himself in the dressing room mirror. He ran his hands down his legs, admiring at how his costume outlined every muscle. His new free skate costume was worlds apart from last year’s. Last year’s had been graphite with muted silver accents. It was nice enough, but that was really all it was. _Nice_. It wasn’t the stuff winners were made of, and it didn’t excite the audience.

He’d watched the video back and cringed a little at his skating; it was too mannered, too controlled. Sterile. It felt like he was watching a stranger. Victor Nikiforov claimed great skating was in how a skater felt on the ice, and nobody could ever have accused him of holding back. His programs felt confessional; it would have felt almost too intimate if not for the fact that most people paid more attention to Victor’s jumps than his themes. They were fools, Chris thought.

He’d returned for the new season after a couple of silvers and a perfunctory bronze and had spent the summer revising his look and approach. It seemed to be a hit. Celestino, no slouch in the hair department himself, had complimented his undercut straight off, and he was sure he had seen Victor watching his practice skates this week with more interest than usual.

Nobody could have accused him of being too understated this year. When he’d first shown his costume to Josef, Josef had laughed and made a comment about tears, but he’d understood. He wasn’t sure if Josef _really_ approved of his undercut, or of the new glimmering gold costume with the mesh side panels. What Josef cared about was his skating, and Chris was skating better than he had in years. His skating was looser and less precise, but he was having fun, and although commentators might write him off as just “sexy”, he was putting more of himself into his program, and it showed in his scores. He’d taken gold at Skate Canada and silver at the Cup of China, along with several other medals at smaller internationals. But the Grand Prix Final was the first place he’d crossed paths with Victor that year.

It was the first time Victor had looked at him with _that_ sort of interest. They’d known each other for years and Victor had always been friendly but distant. But that was before Chris had changed his look.

The best part, he thought, was that it was entirely true to how he felt. It felt natural and the confidence carried over. After his PCS score got him a podium finish at the Grand Prix in Quebec City, he had felt Victor looking over him again.

It felt amazing.

Victor had bumped into him at the after party. Chris saw Yakov looking his way, behind Victor, with a face that spoke of disapproval, but Victor didn't seem to notice.

“Are you finally going to catch up to me, Chris?” Victor said, smiling directly at him. His gold medal glinted around his neck. Chris rubbed a hand through his newly-shorn hair and watched Victor mirror the gesture; neither of them were really used to their haircuts, he thought.

Chris took a long, deliberate drink of his champagne and watched Victor looking him up and down.

“You know me, Victor; a slow starter.”

“I like the new approach. You skate like you’re dancing. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” Chris said, and meant it. He had designed his program around the kind of dancing he liked to do, as opposed to the ballet moves and poise favoured by the rest of the circuit. It made it easier to stay with the music.

“Is your dancing that good off the ice?”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Chris said, and offered his hand to Victor. Victor laughed. Chris was again aware of Yakov, who seemed closer, so he was delighted when Victor took his hand and daringly pulled him close.

It was still early in the evening and the music was still stuffy. Mussorgsky’s Pictures of an Exhibition blared out of the room’s speakers, a nod to their Russian champion, Chris supposed. Victor flicked his hair off his forehead and rolled his eyes.

“It’s no good, right? But that’s no reason not to do your best!”

Chris laughed, and looped an arm around Victor. A sheet of paper wouldn’t have fit between them, and he was aware of how warm Victor’s lean body was, and how intently Victor was smiling at him as he pressed himself against Chris. He was also keenly aware that the eyes of the whole room were on them.

All the more reason to show off. He moved as best as he could to the music, taking Victor with him, never breaking eye contact. Victor swayed and dipped with him, laughing hot and close in his ear. His gold medal pressed hard against Chris’s chest; he was sure there’d be a disc-shaped mark in the morning.

“I hope someone’s getting pictures of this.”

“Vitya!”

“Oh, that sounds like Yakov. I don’t think he likes your dancing as much as I do.”

Chris didn’t doubt it; Victor’s medal hadn’t been all he’d felt pressed against him. They stopped, and drew apart. Over Victor’s shoulder, Chris saw Yakov, red-faced and scowling. He felt a little for Yakov; it couldn’t be easy to manage someone like Victor.

Victor’s eyes glittered. He reached out a finger and rubbed it through the soft short hair of Chris’s undercut. Chris caught his hand.

“Ask first.”

“Vitya!” Chris heard Yakov behind him, no doubt keen to get his charge away before he caused any mischief. “We have an early flight tomorrow!”

“Ok, Yakov, ok,” Victor yelled back. He looked back at Chris for an instant, and his eyes were alight again.

“I’ve got to go now, but you don’t have to go to sleep right away, do you?”

Chris looked over at Josef, who was laughing hard at something Celestino had said.

“No.”

“Lucky,” Victor said, meaningfully, before turning and following Yakov out of the banquet hall.

Chris drank and danced with some of the other skaters for another hour, before he thought of Victor again. He thought of the way Victor’s eyes had danced over him, lingering, and how how Victor had felt pressed against him. He drained his glass, and looked around the room fleetingly. Nobody there he was particularly interested in – looked like he’d have to take matters into his own hands. He threw a casual wave to Celestino and Josef, now red-faced and talking animatedly, and left.

He was so preoccupied as he stepped out of the elevator onto his floor that he didn’t notice Victor leaning nonchalantly in the corridor beside his door. Chris stopped, and stared; Victor was looking at him with the same hunger he’d seen earlier.

“Took you long enough.”

“How did you know where I was staying?”

“I have my ways, and my friends,” Victor said, with some smugness, and winked.

“Yakov will kill you.”

“Then we’d better go in before he finds out,” Victor said, running a loose hand through Chris’s hair again.

It took Chris three tries to get the door open. Victor slid past him like a shadow, and Chris regained his nerves almost immediately. Victor wanted him. Victor pushed him back against the closed door and pressed a line of kisses down Chris’s neck.

“I was thinking about you on the ice all day. You move like you’re the greatest fuck of all time.”

“Smooth, Victor,” Chris managed to choke out, as Victor’s hand slid between his legs and stroked hard. He escaped Victor’s grasp and moved slightly out of reach; he was wearing far too many clothes. Victor didn’t follow, instead he went over to the bed to sit and watch, waiting.

Chris stripped off his shirt in a fluid move, and Victor’s eyes widened as he looked. Chris’s free skate outfit, with its side mesh panels, didn’t leave any room for mystery. He had seen the admiring looks from the audience, but watching Victor sitting on his bed looking at him with the same admiration was something else.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned, as he struggled to unzip his jeans. Victor laughed softly, and got up.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, and swiftly got to his knees. Before Chris could say anything more, Victor’s mouth was on his cock.

He had to brace himself against a wall with one hand, and he couldn’t resist twisting his fingers through Victor’s beautiful hair. It was as silky and smooth as it looked, even slightly damp with sweat, and he felt Victor laugh beneath him. He supposed he wasn’t the first person to have had the fascination.

Victor looked up at him, and Chris groaned almost as much from that as from Victor’s mouth on him. His hands curled on Chris’s hips, fingers digging in, and Chris wondered idly if he’d have bruises in the morning. They’d be visible through the costume’s mesh panels. He hoped so.

Victor’s wicked tongue continued to stroke him to oblivion, as his mouth remained tight on Chris with the same determination he showed on the ice. Chris felt himself close, and his fingers tightened in Victor’s hair. He was almost a bit ashamed of himself; normally he was the one leading everything and none of his previous partners could ever have accused him of lacking stamina. Here he was, giddy as a teenager, and…

It was too much. With a muttered “fuck, Victor…” he came in Victor’s mouth, and Victor remained in place for a moment before standing up with a flourish. Chris leaned back against the wall, cheeks flushed.

Victor wiped his mouth and smiled at him.

“That was fun.”

Chris collected himself as best as he could and stood up. “Let me return the favour.”

Victor moved towards the door.

“You will, but not tonight. I should get back before Yakov gets wise to me and introduces a sex ban.”

Chris snorted.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Wait. Give me your number.”

Victor smiled again. “So practical.” He pulled out his phone and let Chris key his number in.

Chris moved towards him; Victor stayed in place, watching him.

“Next time.”

“I know,” Victor said, still smiling, and then Chris leaned forward and kissed him.

Victor’s mouth was hot and insistent on his, which surprised him; he’d seemed so cool. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Victor was a man who had a cheery, light public persona, yet all his programs betrayed the deeper emotions underneath. It made him want Victor even more, to have him hot and hard underneath him in his bed, drawing Russian curses from him.

Victor drew away from him again, leaving Chris with his own taste on his tongue.

“Next time,” Chris said again.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Victor said. This time, he did leave, and Chris lay back on his bed. His phone buzzed a few minutes later.

_Back in bed, Yakov didn’t catch me. Sleep well, Christophe. ;)_

And he had. When he woke the next morning, he checked his phone, and saw several Instagram notifications from Victor. Strangely, it was this unconcealed enthusiasm that made him more relaxed around Victor; he was just a man like everyone else, even if he was a god on the ice.

He’d been right – he did end up with bruises down his hips. Josef urged him to cover them with makeup, but Chris posted a shot on Instagram where they were particularly prominent instead, and smiled when Victor faved the picture.

They were checking out of the hotel when Chris’s phone vibrated with a message. Victor.

_Like the picture???_

Chris noticed he’d been tagged in an Instagram post by Victor, and flicked it open. It was a photo of them dancing from the previous night. He couldn’t remember who’d taken it. Victor was laughing in his ear, and Chris had a flush beginning to spread across his face. Very dignified. Despite the shit he was sure Yakov would give Victor for it, he smiled.

 _Great picture_ :) _Let’s take some more next time._

_Thought you’d never ask ;)_

Josef tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him that their car was waiting. Chris slid his phone back into his pocket and hoisted his bags to the car.

He watched the snowy landscape drift by, but was broken out of his daze by Victor’s name on the radio. They were talking about the Grand Prix results, and Victor’s winning programs.

“The thing is with Nikiforov is that he’s not just technically accomplished, but he is a master of conveying depth and emotion. He can make you feel a story. That short program of his about loneliness, for example.”

“It was a real cry from the heart. It makes you wonder about him, doesn’t it?”

“Well Victor Nikiforov is travelling back to Moscow a winner once again, I don’t think he needs our sympathy.”

Chris had watched Victor’s short program dozens of times, and the sports commentators got closer to the truth of Victor’s performance than most of them did. He pulled out his phone again.

_Are you home yet?_

In reply, a picture of Victor cuddling Makkachin. Chris felt a pang; he’d been thinking about getting a cat, but he was torn over leaving it when he travelled. But seeing Victor burying his nose in the dog’s fur decided it for him.

_I was just thinking about your SP, how honest it is._

Victor read the message immediately, but there was a pause before he began responding.

_A good program comes from the heart. You have to feel it for others to believe it._

_You’re lonely, Victor?_

Another pause.

 _Not anymore. :)_ _And you’d better bring your best in the New Year. I won’t hold back._

_On or off the ice?_

_Both, obviously. ;)_

Chris slid his phone back into his pocket, a slow smile spreading across his face. It felt good to have a new sense of direction. It felt even better that Victor was encouraging him. It felt like the start of something new and promising.

It felt like it would be good for Victor too.

The car pulled up to the airport. Josef paid the driver, and they got out.

“Josef?”

“Hmmm?”

“Let’s talk about my programs. I have some ideas for next year.”

“Already? Chris, I’m so pleased. Let’s check in and then we can talk about it.”

Chris picked up his bag and followed Josef. He knew exactly the kind of programs he wanted to do, and the narratives he wanted to convey.

No doubt that Victor would raise his game, but then that was the fun of it. He couldn't wait for them to face off again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey recip! I hope you liked this story. I love YOI but I've never written these two before, so I hope I've managed to do them (and the canon) justice.
> 
> One of the things I liked about these two was the sense of camaraderie and understanding between them. They're both the oldest skaters on the circuit and they've known each other a long time. Victor says that Chris was "now sexy on and off the ice", which suggest that he didn't enter the senior circuit with the kind of programs he does now. We always think about Victor cutting his hair, but it sounds like Chris had an equally dramatic transformation.
> 
> Chris in the show comes across as very grounded and down to earth. He's confident in his abilities, but it was the direction that he's torn by initially.
> 
> Victor is fun to write, but I loved the show's depiction of his programs in contrast with his public persona.
> 
> I hope you liked reading all my attempt to convey all of this!


End file.
